


Grey Skies

by SugarRose22



Series: Voltron Skyrim AUs [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: First Meetings, Flirting, Imperial Keith, M/M, Romance, Skyrim AU, Stormcloak Lance, War, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 13:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16063892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarRose22/pseuds/SugarRose22
Summary: What a cruel twist of fate that would be, should the Gods and Goddesses seek to punish Keith by forcing him to fight this beautiful man they had sent down to him.





	Grey Skies

**Author's Note:**

> I love Skyrim and I love Klance, so mash them together and this is what you get!
> 
> But seriously Skyrim Klance AUs are amazing I need more of them so I'm definitely gonna be writing more.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Stormy grey clouds hang over the land of Skyrim, and Keith stares at them blankly, mind drifting away from his muddled thoughts of the war. The fire in front of him is warm, crackling, but the days are getting colder with winter approaching. Around him, the quiet chatter of the Imperial camp he’s stationed at fills the air. Currently, they’re awaiting further orders from General Tullius. They’re settled near Whiterun, and though the hold has remained mostly neutral through the strifes of the war Keith’s still slightly worried that Jarl Balgruuf will turn his back on the Empire though his comrades assure him that those odds are nearly impossible. 

 

A shout jerks Keith’s attention then, and he whips his head toward the sound, hand immediately snatching the hilt of his steel sword at his side as he locates the cause of the noise. His shoulders relax when he sees two of his buddies simply messing around, wrestling one another. He lets the tension flow out of his muscles and rubs at his eyes. The war had scarred him so much that the slightest sounds and movement always set him on edge. He’d always wanted to be a soldier when he was a young, bright-eyed Imperial, and -almost ironically- he’d ended up joining the Imperial Legion. He respected the Empire and their decision to end the bloodshed through signing the White-Gold Concordat, and believed the Stormcloaks were selfish bastards who killed all because they couldn’t worship a God who, in actuality, had never been a God at all. There were Eight Divines and that was it. Keith hated Ulfric Stormcloak with a passion, and he desperately wanted to be the one to end the war by spilling the man’s blood with his own hand.

 

“Keith.”

 

Keith turns, spotting his Commander. He rises and gives the rugged man a salute before being dismissed.

 

“Food’s running low. It’s your turn to provide meals, so go out there and hunt down some game.” His superior says before he turns on his heel, not bothering to wait for a response.

 

“Yes sir.” He replies anyways. He walks toward his tent, replacing his sword with a steel dagger and grabbing his quiver and bow. He’s never really been good with a bow, preferring the solid, reassuring weight of steel in his palm, but he’s decent and he’s sure he can kill at least a small elk. He glances at his fellow soldiers, wondering how many will die within the next few months, but casts the thoughts aside as he focuses on finding some game.

 

He walks until the sounds of the camp fade away, the wilderness seeming more ominous as the silence echoes around him. He stalks through the forest, watching his step and keeping his eyes open for any movement. His guard is up, and he not only listens for sounds of animals but also for sounds of footsteps or fighting, anything out of the ordinary. He’s searching for a deer or an elk, but he knows very well that bears and saber cats could ambush him at any time. 

 

He hears the rushing of a creek when he sees the elk. It’s foraging, ears flicking, and its antlers don’t seem too large so he guesses it’s an adolescent. It’s small, but the meat will be tender and fresh. He crouches low, slowly pulling an iron arrow from its quiver and drawing it. His finger points at the creature, guiding the arrow’s path, and he sucks in a breath and holds it to steady himself.

 

The elk’s head suddenly lifts, and Keith’s muscles relax as he’s about to let the arrow fly. However, there’s a sudden, highly unexpected splash nearby and Keith startles at it, arrow shooting from the bow and lodging into a tree just past the elk’s flank. The elk jumps and bounds away quickly, disappearing into the forest before Keith can ready another arrow.

 

Keith growls angrily, turning his head toward the creek. Who knows how long it will take now to catch another elk? It’s just over a small ridge, and Keith marches up the hill to see what could have made that noise. If it’s a fellow soldier, Keith’s going to give him a tongue-lashing that’s worse than any mother could supply.

 

He reaches the top of the hill and is met with the sight of a beautiful dark-skinned male. He uncharacteristically freezes in his spot, eyes locked on the figure as the brown-haired male searches through the water with his vibrant blue eyes. He hasn’t seemed to notice Keith yet, hands poised and ready to strike as his eyes stay hard and focused, and Keith can’t stop his eyes from roaming over the taut muscles of his bare chest. His dark brown pants cling to his legs, rolled up to below his knee. A belt is fastened to his waist and Keith spots the shimmer of a glass dagger against his hip. He’s always fancied men, but he’d never had to make it known to his fellow comrades. Those feelings were looked down upon anyways, but Keith never cared for what other people thought of him. 

 

Keith watches intently as the male’s eyes lock onto something and he strikes, hands lightning quick as he snatches a salmon from the water. Keith blinks in slight astonishment as the male laughs, gripping tightly to the slippery fish as he holds it up. Keith finds his lips quirking up, and he’s about to call out to the man in congratulations when items along the grassy bank of the creek catches his eye. The armor is piled up, a steel helmet off to the side next to several weapons, and Keith’s gaze locks onto the infamous blue quilted cloth and leather straps. The unmistakable armor of a Stormcloak soldier.

 

Keith feels his pulse kick into overdrive, his mind beginning to race as his wide eyes flick back to the man. His heart leaps into his throat and his stomach twists painfully when he sees the man has noticed him, eyes locked on the tell-tale brown and red leathers he wears, giving him away as an Imperial soldier. There’s a beat of stillness between them, only the rushing of the creek in their ears before they both spring into action.

 

Keith’s hands shake as he hurries to pull out an arrow and ready it. The Stormcloak soldier drops the fish he’d caught without a second thought, leaping toward the bank of the creek for his weapons. Keith can’t get the arrow to settle in properly with the frantic panicked thoughts whirling through his mind, and he spares a glance up only to halt all of his movements.

 

The male has a hard, hatred-filled gaze trained on him, arrow already in his bow and aimed straight at him. Keith isn’t sure what to do, because he’s fought people before but he’s always been sure of himself and has never been afraid of dying. His trusty sword had always saved him, had taken the lives of countless Stormcloak soldiers and others alike, others who had opposed him and the Empire. He’d never had to worry about archers, because other Imperial soldiers had always been on top of it to protect him, highly trained in that skill area. Now, he’s faced with another life or death situation, and Keith believes he’s finally going to die this time.

 

He stares, helpless, as the man stays unmoving. Keith notices then that his bow glistens with an icy blue sheen. _ ‘Enchanted..’  _ He thinks, and despite the situation he’s slightly in awe because he had never seen an enchanted weapon before, only heard of them in stories, and even as a child he thought they were merely myths and legends. If he dies, at least he’ll die at the hand of an obviously skilled warrior and not by the horrid dragons that have begun to return to Skyrim.

 

However, moments pass, and the Stormcloak hasn’t let his arrow fly. Keith’s bow is held tightly in his trembling hand, arrow shaking against the wood. Is this really the end for him? He’d only been in several battles before, he’d taken lives and nearly had his own taken, but would this be the last time he saw the stormy skies of Skyrim? Would it be the last few breaths he ever took on this land? By the Gods, he’d never even get to return home to Cyrodiil, never see his homelands again if that were the case. Hell, he wasn’t even in battle, he’d simply been hunting to provide food for himself and his camp, but now, it looked as if they’d never get their food and Keith would never see any of them, or anyone else, ever again.

 

“Are you alone?” The question is sharp, punctuated by the man shifting his stance and clenching the bow tighter. Keith is afraid to blink, thinking that if he does, his eyes won’t open again. He keeps his lips sealed, completely panicked, and the male glares harder. “I  _ said _ ;  **_are you alone?_ ** ” He repeats, firmer and harsher than before.

 

Keith drags his tongue along his dry lips before answering, “Yes. I’m the only one from my camp.” His voice is slightly shaky, sounding out of breath.

 

“How far?” The male asks.

 

“Half a mile.” Keith responds. His heart beats painfully inside his chest.

 

Silence. Neither of them move or speak. Keith really isn’t sure why he’s not dead yet, or why the Stormcloak had decided to interrogate him rather than kill him. To the opposing side, it would have been one less man to face on the battlefield. Keith wonders what he would do if their positions were switched, if he’d been stumbled upon in a vulnerable moment. Surely he’d kill them as soon as he got the chance, but if it had been this specific male, would he have been able to? The boy’s eyes are bright, his face handsome and youthful, caramel skin nearly flawless. He’s attractive, Keith will admit. He wonders where the man is from.

 

“What?” The voice is clearly confused, tone lifting at the end to indicate a question, and Keith blinks when he realizes he spoke aloud.

 

He knows he can’t lie or take it back, so he simply repeats the question, “Where are you from?”

 

The man frowns and his brows furrow as he speaks, “Dawnstar.”

 

Ah, Dawnstar, the Hold currently under the control of the Stormcloaks. Keith had never been there, but General Tullius had briefed them about it during training occasionally. They were planning on taking it over once a few things had settled and they had set courses on which directions they were going to be headed in. Keith didn’t know much about it, but he’d heard it was snowy most of the year and was actually quite pretty.  _ ‘Pretty like this man…’ _ Keith thought, feeling ridiculous for thinking such things at a time like this.

 

“What’s your name?” The man asks, still refusing to sheath his weapon. Keith slowly straightens after his back began to cramp from being stuck in the same crouch for so long. He is sure to lower his bow at his sides, though the Stormcloak soldier still becomes tense at the movement.

 

“Keith.” He responds. “You are..?”

 

The Stormcloak hesitates, eyes flashing. “Lance.” He says. 

 

“Well, Lance,” Keith’s panic has died down, but there’s still an ache in his muscles from how they’ve stayed taught the whole time. “I don’t plan on killing you.” To back up his words, Keith slowly slips the arrow back into its quiver and carefully pulls his bow over his torso, acting as if he were about to startle a small deer. He waits patiently for Lance’s next move, praying to the Gods he didn’t just make a mistake that would cost his life.

 

Lance’s eyes narrow, but he relaxes and removes the arrow from the bow though he keeps both clenched in his hands. Keith notices a small, dagger-like scar in his lower abdomen and wonders how he’d gotten it. His eyes roam, but he takes note of no other lacerations on the man’s skin. Keith’s been fighting in the war for over a year and has many battle scars to prove it. His pale complexion is marred, most of them on his arms and back, though he has gotten slashed in his legs and torso several times. The memories of the pain and the blood only remind him to work harder, to fight harder, and the scars motivate him to keep going because he’s already made it this far, why quit now? War was tough, but rewarding in some ways. 

 

“Why are you staring?” Lance asks, and Keith’s eyes are drawn to his face and to his surprise the sun-kissed cheeks are actually red with a flush. Is he embarrassed of his physique? Keith appreciated it, the lean, sinewy muscle that wasn’t as bulging as his own, clearly displaying a slim and almost feminine figure while still showing strength and masculinity. 

 

“You don’t seem to have many scars,” Keith says, “I was just wondering how long you’ve been fighting and attempting to judge based on your appearance.”

 

Lance’s lips twist and his eyes flicker toward the ground. “Not for too long. Certainly not for a full year. Several months though I haven’t been through many battles. Our squad is mainly for relaying messages from..” He trails off and his ocean eyes stare hard at Keith. “Why am I speaking about this to an  **_Imperial_ ** ?” The word is spit with so much venom Keith is reminded of how much he hates Ulfric Stormcloak and all the people who believe in him. However, he doesn’t find the fire burning as passionately this time, even as he stares a Stormcloak dead in the eyes and has a simple conversation with him. 

 

A cold breeze blows by. A hawk’s faint cry pierces the sky, the trees rustle and the creek still flows calmly between the two opposing sides. Keith has never felt so conflicted in his life; faced with his enemy yet he hasn’t felt the need to attack him like an animal, to fight like he typically would on the battlefield. He finds himself intrigued and wonders just how dangerous this situation, or more specifically, Lance, is. 

 

Their gazes hold one another, and Keith’s mind is filled with questions about this strange, exotic boy. Lance doesn’t look like the typical, pale-skinned fair-haired nord he’s used to seeing, though the eyes are certainly enrapturing, commanding attention and striking Keith with the strangest feelings, things he’s never felt before. He wonders what Lance feels in this moment.

 

Keith spots the shimmer of scales in the river and remembers how he’d stumbled across the boy fishing with his bare hands.

 

“You caught that fish with your own hands,” Keith says over the droning of the creek. “That was impressive, how did you learn to do that?” Is he trying to prolong their meeting? Keith tells himself he’s only curious about Lance’s skills.

 

Lance’s gaze falls to the water and a small smile slips onto his lips. “Yeah, my father taught me.” Lance runs his free hand through his messy chocolate hair, the other still holding his shimmering bow. “It took me a long while to be able to get the hang of it, but when I did,” He chuckles softly, and Keith gets tingles from the smooth laughter. “I provided dinner most of the time with how often I was snatching salmon out of the rivers.” 

 

Keith enjoys the small tale. He’d grown up mostly alone, having lost his parents at a young age and then being placed in an orphanage in Cyrodiil, which eventually relocated all of the children to Riften in Skyrim. Keith had been in such awe of the place when he first arrived, and when he saw the soldiers out and about, he immediately knew he wanted to be one of them someday. Most of his skills were acquired through himself, as he taught himself how to fight and hunt though he did train for a long time in Solitude with the Legion, bettering himself for the war efforts.

 

Keith felt strange as he stared at the Stormcloak soldier. He was beginning to realize that, even though they were on opposing sides of the war and had very different beliefs and ideals, underneath all the armor was just another sentient creature trying to live a happy life. An epiphany struck Keith, washing over him as his lips fell open just slightly. It was true; Lance was a human being, living and breathing and fighting for what he believed in, just like Keith and all the other soldiers out there. Hatred had burrowed itself so deep within Keith’s being, fueled by each pint of blood his sword spilled, that he completely overlooked the fact that he was fighting against people, living people, some of which who were probably his own kind. And Lance, Lance hadn’t killed Keith when he very well could have. The opportunity was right in his hands, in that moment Keith had shown weakness and Lance could have taken advantage of it, could have shot his arrow and taken Keith’s life, but he didn’t. Keith saw, then, that Lance hadn’t shot him dead the instant he had the chance because Lance always had the knowledge that people were alive just like him, and he didn’t recklessly take lives just because. He was insightful, intelligent, and he was increasingly more interesting the longer Keith thought about him.

 

“What?” Lance asked, voice snappy and brow furrowed, and Keith realized that he’d been staring at the male with his mouth agape during his revelation. 

  
Keith cleared his throat awkwardly. “Nothing, nothing. My apologies.” He glanced around before his eyes settled back on Lance and, upon closer inspection, he found the man’s cheeks to be flushed. He was embarrassed? It was endearing to Keith. The crimson blush filled his tanned  cheeks and made his eyes sparkle brighter. Keith couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out his lips, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re beautiful?” His voice held an affectionate, gentle tone that surprised him as well as Lance, whose face seemed to grow even darker at the words.

 

“Shouldn’t you be saying that to a woman?” Lance muttered, looking away shyly. Keith chuckled.

 

“My apologies, but I don’t quite fancy women.” He admitted. Lance looked up, slightly surprised before he stared at the ground once more. 

 

“I do, but men are equally appealing to me.” Lance gave a shrug and Keith felt a sort of hope rise in his chest. So that meant Lance liked both men and women? He had a chance, then? Keith wasn’t quite sure why the information made him so giddy, but he let himself feel something other than the cold, weary feeling that constantly hung around him like a suffocating cloud.

 

“Am I appealing to you?” Keith questioned with a laugh, and Lance chewed his lower lip, bashfully looking away and avoiding Keith’s violet-gray eyes. Keith’s laughter died and he couldn’t help but step forward, intrigued. “You mean I am?” 

 

Lance mumbled something he couldn’t hear over the creek and he strained his neck to listen. Lance huffed and turned, crossing his arms and lowering his chin. “Yes, somewhat.” Came his response, and Keith’s lips pulled up into a smirk.

“Wonderful. I’ll keep that in mind.” Keith knew he really should get going, should find some game to bring back to camp before it got too late and the others came searching for him, but he felt the magnetic pull to stay here with Lance and chat to his heart's content. “If it’s any help to make you feel less embarrassed, you’re quite appealing to me as well.” Keith waited until Lance looked up at him to send him a wink, to which Lance blushed harder and turned away.

 

Keith let out a breathy chuckle, standing tall as he felt the tension drain from his muscles. Lance had turned, gathering up his clothing and weapons though he glanced over his shoulder several times. Now that he had a view of Lance’s back, he spotted a couple more scars across the tanned expanse of skin. On his left shoulder blade, there seemed to be four animalistic claw marks, most likely from a Saber Cat or other wild creature, and near the dimples on his lower back there was a long, thin slice running diagonally from one end of his back to the other, though it was low and nearly horizontal. Keith pondered about how they came to be, but Lance was slipping the Stormcloak cuirass over his torso and the scars were gone from sight.

 

Lance hooks his weapons to his belt, bow perched across his torso and arrow returned to its quiver. They stare at each other for a while, gazes revealing many unsaid questions and emotions, and Keith was beginning to feel disappointed at the fact that he and Lance had to part ways. Would this be the last he’d see of the other male? Would one of them die, or possibly even collide on the battlefield and have to fight..? 

 

What a cruel twist of fate that would be, should the Gods and Goddesses seek to punish Keith by forcing him to fight this beautiful man they had sent down to him. 

 

“Will we meet again?” Lance asks, a certain look in his eye and a small frown upon his lips. Lance didn’t look good with a frown.

 

Keith didn’t truly know the answer to his question, but he didn’t want to see that distraught expression on Lance’s handsome face. He prayed to Mara that this wouldn’t be the last time that he would see Lance again, so he gave them both the answer they hoped for.

 

“I’m sure we will.” Keith responds, and Lance’s eyes spark with something hopeful, something that makes Keith want to hold onto hope too. Lance manages a gentle smile, giving Keith a nod, accepting his answer. Keith raises his hand to wave at Lance, a small smile tugging the corners of his lips. A chilly breeze blows by, the creek trickles between them, and with one last look Lance turns and disappears into the shadowed forest.

 

Keith exhaled slowly, unsure of himself now, feeling as though he was rooted to the spot. Twisting his lips in thought, Keith furrowed his brow before he turned to the nearest tree, pulling out his dagger and cutting into it. His carving took the shape of a K, and then a shape of an L. With a small flush on his cheeks, he slashed a choppy heart around the two letters.

 

Sheathing his dagger, Keith turned away from the scene. He looked up at the cloud covered sky, grey clouds stretching as far as the eye could see, his mind consumed with nothing but Lance.

**Author's Note:**

> Probably gonna make more parts of this! Let me know if you liked it and what you'd like to see in the future!! Kudos and comments are always appreciated <3


End file.
